Instead of a marathon where there are rock bands playing or Hooters girls passing out mimosas, we have mile long pits with sand up to your ankles, a 12 mile mountain path, a 6 mile hill, an abundance of cacti, and lots and lots of desert. It’s a race that’s less about Gatorade and Power Bars, and more about studly soldiers, veterans, and cadets who like to do things the hard way. Just the kind of soldier you’d like to run into if you were in trouble.

Some of the crazy ones suit up in their battle uniforms and carry a 35lb ruck sack with them. I imagine they just enjoy pain, but who knows. The last guy to finish was a 57 year old Vietnam vet with a prosthetic leg and an American flag in his back pack. As he marched past our back yard it was dark and there was a police car behind him lighting the way. All of the neighbors climbed the back fence to go to the road and cheer him on. It was quite an experience.

Randy, in true crazy soldier fashon, has done the race twice now. When asked why I don’t join him, I mumble something about being pregnant most of the time I’ve lived here. But really, it’s tough to make excuses when the woman to your right lost her son in Iraq and the group to your left is a team of young cadets carrying the flag and chanting about their future lives as soldiers. I just pass out Gatorade and cheer them on.